The Story of Syria
by NinjaWolf95
Summary: Syria has finally gotten independence from France, and now she has to start life by herself. Not only is her neighbor the most threatening country around, but she's also having a hard time finding anybody to like. She doesn't favor the western countries, and she's definitely not crawling back to that douche France. It seems her scary neighbor is her only option...
1. Prologue: France's House

Life at France's house can be rather...invigorating at times. Syria never had a relaxing moment, not even in her sleep. Stress was starting to pick at her little by little. France's antics weren't getting any better. She was on the verge of calling it quits.

Every morning Syria had to wake up an hour before France and cook the two of them breakfast. France, being the arrogant way he was, made sure that Syria was as good a cook as himself. It helped that cooking came naturally to Syria; that didn't stop France from being picky, though. In a lot of ways, he reminded Syria of that Scottish chef that's always getting really angry at little things. Of course, he didn't curse as much as the Scottish chef.

This morning Syria had decided to make spiced waffles with caramelized apples on top. It was a sweet breakfast that was paired with vanilla ice-cream. It was also one of Syria's favorites. The recipe was fun to make and quite simply delicious. She had made them before, and France had complimented them greatly. She was sure he'd love to have them again.

Syria took her time cooking, since it was a quick meal to make. She checked the clock. An hour had passed, which meant it was about time for France's alarm to go off. Syria got a tray and set it up nicely with the food. She got some apple juice and poured a glass of it for France, just as the alarm started to go off in his room. Carefully, she took the tray into his bedroom and waited for him to wake.

It didn't take long for him to wake, and when he saw Syria with the food, he said, "Oh, is that what I think it is?" He smiled and sat up, breathing in the aroma of the freshly cooked waffles and apples. "Mmm, I do believe it is." Syria placed the tray on his lap. France smiled tiredly at the food.

"Today's breakfast is spiced waffles with caramelized apples and vanilla ice-cream," Syria stated. "Bon appétit, Monsieur." She bowed and stood off to the side of the bed as usual. France dug into the food, eating happily. Syria watched him out of the corner of her eye, and wondered when he'd call her over.

"Sabeen, mon chére, come sit on the bed with me," France said, right on cue. Syria walked over to the side of the bed that France wasn't already occupying and sat next to him. This was a common occurrence; in fact it happened every day. For some reason, France always had Syria sit by him in bed. He would feed her bits of food and smile, telling her how cute she was. This had started to irk Syria after awhile; she wasn't a baby anymore and didn't need to be fed.

"Try some of your delicious cooking, mon chére," France said. He cut a bit of the waffle off onto his fork, then scooped up some apples. He held the fork to Syria's lips and smiled at her, waiting for her to eat it. Syria's expression was a bit annoyed as she ate the food. "Isn't it good? You're such a wonderful cook, Sabeen." France nuzzled her cheek with a chuckle. "And I'm a wonderful teacher."

France ate his breakfast and left for the bathroom to get ready for the day. Syria took his tray back to the kitchen and washed all the dishes that she had dirtied while cooking breakfast. She waved at a couple of maids passing by, and then went to check her chore list. Her finger went down the list until she found her name written neatly in France's handwriting. It appeared she had three chores today. She had to tend the garden, help France with paperwork, and finally scrub the floors. It didn't look like much, but it was all hard work besides helping France.

Syria had only finished one of her chores by lunchtime. Her hands were dirty from tending the garden, so she washed them and looked around the kitchen, wondering what to cook. She heard that Italy would be visiting, so she decided on something Italian. Syria didn't know many Italian recipes by heart, so she had to pull out her world cookbook.

"Hmm," she said, flipping through the pages, "Ah, here we are. Italian food." She looked through the list of recipes. Finally, she found one she liked. "Prawn and prosciutto roll-ups, huh?" She left the book open on the page and began following the directions. It was a small lunch, but it was lunch nonetheless.

Italy had come while Syria was still cooking. The smell of the food led him into the kitchen. He asked if he could help cook, but Syria said no and told him to just watch. Italy did just that. He hung over Syria's shoulder as she cooked and chopped.

"Syria-chan, there's no pasta!" Italy said, a bit disappointed. "It can't be Italian without pasta!" Italy kept going on about pasta. Syria waited until he stopped speaking to say anything.

"Not all Italian food has pasta," she said in a soft voice. "Pizza doesn't have pasta." Italy frowned at her. "You're Italian, you should know this, Italy-kun."

"But pasta is my favorite!" Italy whined. Syria just smiled at him and finished up her cooking. She plated the food and turned to Italy.

"I made this especially for you, Italy-kun. I hope you like it. Let's take it to France," Syria said. Italy smiled when he heard she made the food for him. It cheered him up instantly, and he didn't care about it not having pasta anymore. He ran off towards the room France was in, and Syria followed behind him.

Italy burst through the door of France's office, "Big brother France! Big brother France! I'm here! And Syria-chan made us lunch! She said she made it especially for me!" France turned and smiled at Italy. He took the two plates from Syria and sat down at the couch in the room. He motioned Italy to sit with him and placed one of the plates on the coffee table in front of him.

"Today's lunch is prawn and prosciutto roll-ups," Syria said. "Bon appétit, Messieurs." She bowed and stood off to the side of the room. France and Italy chatted as they ate. Italy seemed to really like the dish, which made Syria happy. Italy, in all his innocent glory, made Syria happy. It was a nice break from the devious France, who had enough sex drive for two people. Often times she thought about leaving and living with Italy, but then again, Italy could get annoying quickly.

"Sabeen, we're finished eating, if you'd please take these dishes," France said, before turning back to Italy. Syria collected the dishes and went back to her chores. After awhile, Italy left. He gave Syria a friendly hug before leaving.

It was almost night time when Syria had finally finished her chores. One of the maids took over dinner for her so she didn't have to stay up all night scrubbing the last of the floors. She decided to relax by taking a long, warm bubble bath. As she was stepping into the water, someone knocked at the door.

"Mon chére, are you taking a bath without me?" France chimed from behind the door. Syria rolled her eyes and scowled, nestling herself into the tub. France turned the doorknob and opened the door, walking into the bathroom. Syria acted as if this was an everyday thing.

"Monsieur, please, this is my private time," Syria said. France just smiled at her as he stripped down.

"It's now bonding time for us, mon amour," he stated as he got into the tub with Syria. "Come sit over here." Syria sighed, a light blush forming on her cheeks, and sat against France's chest. France smiled and wrapped his arms around Syria.

This was another reason Syria wanted to leave: she never got any private time. She had to sleep in the servant's quarters with the other maids, so there was no privacy there. People were always running around the house and talking with each other, so she wasn't alone while doing her chores. She at least expected some private time in the bath.

France went ahead and washed Syria's hair for her, massaging her scalp as he did. Syria remained quiet as France rambled on about work. She stared at the wall most of the time. Syria wasn't interested in playing France's games.

"Mon amour, why are you so quiet?" France asked. "I feel like I'm having a one-sided conversation." Syria sighed and looked down at the bubbles. They were starting to disappear.

"It's just awkward for me, being in the bath with you," Syria said quietly. France just smiled and tilted her head back to look at her in the eyes.

"You're so cute," he said, and gave her a kiss on the lips. Syria blushed and just sat there, waiting for him to pull away. She wasn't going to give him what he wanted. France pulled away. "And you're so shy too." He went back to washing her.

Syria went to bed that night feeling a bit violated. France hadn't tried much more besides groping, but it still felt...wrong. She sat on her bed and pulled her stuffed rabbit, Sargon, out from under her pillow. One of the button-eyes was coming loose and started to hand. She frowned at the doll.

"We need to get out of here, Sargon," she said. She lay down in her bed, hugging Sargon tightly to her chest. Syria went to sleep with a frown on her face.


	2. One: Finding Russia

Syria frowned as she hugged Sargon to her chest. It was the middle of the night, and she was standing at the front doors of France's house with a suitcase in her hand. She couldn't help but feel a bit sad; this was the house she grew up in. It was time to move on, however. Syria gave one last look to the dark room behind her and exited the building.

She was tired of not having any privacy. It seemed like a childish reason to leave, but as Syria grew older she realized that she'd never learn to be strong if she was constantly surrounded by people. Syria didn't want to be dependent on others forever. She wanted to be strong like the other countries.

The fact that France was becoming increasingly annoying was another reason. He had been trying many differently tactics to get into her pants, but Syria kept refusing him. She had decided that enough was enough. France wasn't going to use her to get his pleasure.

The night air was cold, since it was nearing winter. Her coat wasn't that thick, but it kept her somewhat warm. Sargon also helped keep her warm. The long hair around her neck worked as a scarf, as far as keeping her neck warm. Syria wished she had brought a real scarf, though. Her nose felt as though it was about to freeze off.

Syria walked for hours until she found shelter. It was a small house that nobody appeared to be living in. Upon looking through the windows, the house had no furniture. She noticed a small "for sale" sign in the window. Syria smiled to herself; this was going to be the house she'd live in.

She couldn't help but notice the huge house next door, however. It was larger than France's house, which made Syria a bit nervous. She wondered who could live in such a huge house. As she was gawking, the front porch light flipped on. Syria jumped and entered the empty house she was standing at.

Syria had managed to sleep on the floor that night, despite lack of heat. She used what clothes she could as blankets and kept her coat on as she slept. Needless to say, she didn't get a very good night's sleep. She was often waking up because of the cold.

A knock at the door woke Syria up that morning. It startled her awake, and her stiff body ached at the sudden movement. Syria got up with a groan and answered the door. She was surprised to see a tall man standing there. He smiled at her, appearing innocent at first.

"You're new neighbor," he said. "You must be Syria, da?" Syria looked at him, confused. "Zdrastvujte, I am Russia." Syria had heard stories of Russia. She started to feel chills run up her spine.

"Ah, marhabbteen," Syria said, a bit nervous. She spoke in her native language now, since she wasn't being forced to speak French. "Yes, I am Syria. Are you the person who lives in the house over there?" Russia nodded and smiled again, his face appearing slightly more evil. Syria fretted to herself. She just got away from France, and now this strong country is going to take her over.

"You buy house, da?" Russia asked. Syria nodded. "Oh. I make you furniture, da. Don't worry. I be your friend." Even though he claimed to be a friend, Syria still felt nervous. Russia nodded and walked into the house, pushing Syria aside to do so.

"Ah, affwaan," Syria mumbled, following behind him. "But why are you here?" Russia looked around the barren house and noticed Sargon sitting on the pile of clothes. He picked Sargon up and held him directly in front of his face.

"I come to visit," Russia said simply. "This is yours, da?" He held the rabbit out to Syria. Syria simply nodded. "It is nice." He placed Sargon back down on the pile of clothes. Russia looked around some more, even though there was nothing to look at.

Syria closed the door behind Russia once he left. She sighed a sigh of relief once he was gone. France often said that Russia was the cruelest of the nations. Out of some twist of bad luck, Syria ended up being neighbors with him. She second-guessed her leaving France, but then quickly decided it was just an obstacle she'd have to over come. Running back to France as soon as something scary appears wasn't going to earn her any respect. However, Syria felt that Russia wasn't going to leave her alone from now on.


	3. Two: The Revolutionist

A few weeks had passed and Syria was feeling nice in her new home. Russia had made her furniture just as he said he would; her house was filling up nicely. She had officially bought the home. Only one thing remained in question: when would France appear and try to take her back?

Syria was busy decorating when a knock was heard from her door. She sighed, thinking it was Russia again. Syria placed the flower pot she had in her hands down and answered the door. To her surprise, it wasn't Russia. It was Italy standing at her doorstep, looking worried. His face held a tint of guilt, however.

"Syria-chan!" Italy said, embracing her once the door was open. Syria was shocked, but hugged him back nonetheless. Italy hugged her tight, as if he was afraid of letting go. "I missed you..."

"I'm sorry, Italy," Syria said quietly. She felt bad for leaving without letting him know. "I would've told you, but I was just so rushed." Syria rubbed the other's back, trying to comfort him.

"Are we still friends?" Italy asked, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were teary. Syria frowned when she saw the tears in his eyes. "You still like me, Syria-chan?"

"Of course I still like you," Syria said, taking her sleeve and wiping at the tears on his eyelashes. "You're my best friend, Italy. And I'm sorry I left. I just...couldn't live there anymore." Seeing Italy so sad made Syria start to tear up as well. She grimaced to herself; she needed to stop being so easily moved.

"Don't cry, Syria-chan. We're together now," Italy said, smiling sadly. He knew he would have to leave. "Let's go play while we have the time." Italy took her hand and led her outside. He held her hand tight, the same way he hugged her. She meant a lot to him. "Playing will make us happier." Syria smiled as well.

"You're right. What do you want to play, Italy-kun?" Syria asked. "There's not much two people can play." Italy looked back at her with a smile. Syria couldn't help but smile at his innocent grin.

"Let's play tag," Italy said. He led Syria out to an open space and let go of her hand. He turned to face her. "I'll be 'it' first!" Italy grinned and started to chase Syria around. Syria was grinning by now as well. Italy was a fast runner when he wanted to be.

The game went outside of the clear area and into the forested area. The two had been playing for about an hour, and Italy was "it" again. Syria tried hard to jump over rocks and felled branches in her dress and boots. It was hard to do so, and she had almost fell a couple of times. Italy was right behind her, and she couldn't fall now or she'd lose the game.

"Oof!" Syria cried as the hem of her dress hitched onto a branch. It wrapped around the branch good enough to not rip, and the branch was too thick to break. Syria ended up falling. Italy, being right behind her, ended up falling right on top of her. "Ow!"

"I'm sorry Syria-chan!" Italy fretted. "Are you okay?" Syria groaned. Italy moved off of her so she could sit up. Syria turned over onto her back and sat up next to Italy. She sighed softly and rubbed her forehead.

"I'm fine, I just bumped my head," Syria said. Italy moved her hand away from her forehead to look at it. He frowned a bit, even though there was no mark he figured it hurt.

"Here," Italy said. He kissed her forehead. "I kissed it better." He smiled at her. Syria laughed and smiled back.

"Thanks. It feels better now."

Soft footsteps were heard coming up from behind the two. Italy jumped at the sound. They were coming closer. The footsteps paused for a moment. Suddenly, the footsteps were loud and rushed. A voice came from them.

"Italy! Syria!" It was France. He ran up to them, seemingly worried. "Italy! You were supposed to bring her back, not play games!" France scolded Italy, who looked even more guilty. Syria looked at Italy, shocked to hear that her best friend was sent to betray her.

"France!" Syria exclaimed, not at all happy. She stood up and turned to him. "What are you doing here? Go away!" France ignored her and immediately embraced her when she stood up.

"Oh, ma chère, I've missed you so much! Why did you just leave like that? You have no idea how worried I was about you!" France cried. He hugged her tighter and tighter as he spoke, leaving her almost gasping for air.

"France! You're hurting her!" Italy exclaimed. France let go of Syria. His face was suddenly very serious.

"Why did you leave?"

"I want to be independent," Syria replied. Her voice was slightly raised for emphasis. It was smooth and confident.

"That's impossible! You're too small, yet," France said. He grabbed Syria's arm. He was firm, but gentle at the same time. "You're coming home."

"No. I have a new home now," Syria stated. "I'm not going to live my life dependent on you forever!" France moved his hands to Syria's shoulders. He leaned down so his face was even with hers.

"Sabeen, listen to me. It's a scary world out there. I don't think you understand the dangers you're putting yourself in. Just come home." Syria glared.

"Make me." France's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't expected her to challenge him like this. He pulled back and stood straight, brushing off his clothes.

"If that's what you want...," France said, his sentence trailing off.

"Please don't fight!" Italy said in the background, but he was ignored. France pulled out a gun he kept under his clothes and pointed it at Syria. Syria, in all honesty, was shocked.

"You don't have a weapon? You're insisting war on me, but you don't have a weapon?" France said, raising an eyebrow. Syria looked around for something. In the end, she was with nothing more than a stick. France frowned. "Just surrender. You're not going to win against me with that."

"I'm not going back home," Syria spat. France cocked his gun. He was slow about it. He didn't want to shoot her, but he wanted her to realize how bad the world is.

"I'll give you until three to back out," France stated. He started counting down. Syria stood her ground. She wasn't going to back out now.

"Three." France pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a loud bang, the bullet flying towards Syria. She closed her eyes, waiting for the impact. A cry of pain caused her to open her eyes.

"Italy!" Syria and France cried at the same time. Italy had jumped in front of the bullet to protect Syria. The bullet had hit him in the shoulder. It wasn't going to kill him if it was treated properly. Syria fell to her knees, tears budding rapidly. "Italy!"

"Damn it!" France said. "This is your fault, Sabeen! If you'd of just came home!" He glared at Syria as he took Italy in his arms. Syria just sat there in shock, tears running down her face. Some of the blood that pooled onto the ground was absorbed into the fabric of her dress. France turned away scornfully and ran off with a pained Italy in his arms.

"Th-this is my fault...," Syria repeated in a whisper.


	4. Three: Etching Misery

Syria sat on the ground for hours. She sat there, wallowing in her sadness. Italy was injured, and it was her fault. She had blood on her hands, and there was a small streak on her jaw from where she rubbed her face. The blood was dried and starting to crust.

The angry growl of her stomach and the chill of the air caused Syria to get up and go home. She walked as if she was dead. Her arms hung loose and her legs moved slowly. She stared into the distance as she walked. Surprisingly, she didn't run into anything.

Syria made it home just as a light snow began to fall. She got as far as the front door. As she took hold of the door knob, her legs gave out under her. She fell to the ground with a loud sob. Her hands went to her face as she started weeping over Italy once more.

Inside his house, Russia watched the scene from his window. Needless to say he was curious, but the scene was too beautiful to interrupt. The sight of the girl in a heap crying, her figure against the snowflakes was something that made him speechless. He'd never seen such a beauty, living out in the middle of nowhere.

A strange satisfaction rose in the heart of Russia. He enjoyed the scene while it lasted. Seeing the girl in such a distressed state brought some form of comfort to him. He wanted to go out there and touch her; he wanted to hold her in his arms as she wept. He wanted to feel the hot tears of another person against his skin. It wasn't until Syria managed to enter the house when he realized these desires were complete nonsense. He grimaced to himself and turned from the window.

Once she managed to get inside, Syria went to her room. She got Sargon off from her bed and hugged him with one arm. She cried against his plush head. The feel of the fabric brought comfort to her. Syria stood in her room, hugging the toy until she finally stopped crying. She brought Sargon away from her, looking at him. His head was wet from the tears.

"Sargon...," Syria whispered. She smiled a little at the rabbit as she brushed his floppy away ears from the his face. "Thanks for always being here when I need you." Syria hugged Sargon tightly and put him back on the bed. She headed for the bathroom, grabbing a clean change of clothes as she did.

Once out of the bath, Syria went to the kitchen to calm her raging stomach. She combed back her wet hair as she searched the fridge for something to eat. Finding nothing, she groaned and wandered into the front room.

"Hello," said a familiar Russian accent. Syria turned to the voice, seeing the Russian sitting comfortably in one of the cushioned chairs he had made. He smiled his innocent smile and said to her, "You look hungry, da?"

"What are you doing here? How did you even get in?" Syria asked, annoyed. Russia seemed to enjoy breaking into her house more than she would like him to. She just hoped he'd stop, once he realized she was too small of a country to be worth anything yet.

"I bring you food," he said as he held out to her a container with food inside it. "It's gous v yablokach. It's a Russian cuisine." Syria took the container and looked inside. The food looked delicious.

"Did you cook this?" Syria asked, a bit surprised. She didn't expect Russia to be a chef. She also didn't expect him to be this nice to her.

"No, my chef did," he said. "He make too much so I bring some to you. I thought you'd like it, da?" Russia smiled at her. Syria looked at him, a half-smile plastered onto her face. She opened the container and the smell of cooked goose hit her nose.

"Well, that's very nice of you. Why are you doing all of this stuff for me, Russia?" Syria asked. She inhaled the smell of the goose and sighed happily. The smell made her think of a Christmas dinner, with a happy family around a table.

"I like to see people happy before I make their face contort in pain," Russia said. His tone was all too innocent for what he had just said. "It makes it more interesting." Syria felt the chills crawl down her back and closed the container.

"W-well, I'm not sure whether I should be worrying or laughing. Because that was a joke, right?" she said, trying to convince herself more than him. Russia simply smiled at her.

"You find out soon, da," he said. His reply was unnerving. Syria forced out a laugh.

"Hahaha, it's getting late, don't you think? You should probably head home," Syria said. Russia took the hint and stood up. He brushed past her to get to the door. The closeness of him sent more chills down Syria's spine.

"Right. I see you later, da? Spokoinai nochi,"

"Uh, sure. Tosbeh 'ala khair." Russia smiled once more before leaving. Syria sighed and locked the door. She went to her kitchen to eat the food Russia had given her. It tasted as good as it smelled. Once she had eaten, Syria went to bed.

The next morning Syria woke to find the ground covered with snow. She smiled at it, she had always loved snow. She sat up in bed and stretched, her back popping as she did. With a sigh she got out of bed and headed out of the bedroom. It was cold in the house; she didn't have any heating yet.

She noticed a piece of paper on the floor by the door. Syria went and picked it up. The paper was neatly folded in half. She opened the paper. It appeared to be a letter. She read it aloud as she carried on with her morning routine.

_Dear Syria,___

_I regret to inform you that your alliance with Italy has hereby ended. He wishes no further contact unless it is him who contacts you. Please respect this decision, or I will be forced to gas you. Italy is in good health and recovering from the shot wound. He will only have a scar once he is fully healed.___

_Sincerely,__  
__Germany_

"My...alliance with Italy?" Syria questioned. She frowned. "Italy doesn't want to be my friend anymore." Syria gritted her teeth and slammed the letter down. "Damnit!" She started to tear up again, but quickly wiped the tears away. "I'm losing my only friend!" Syria leaned down onto the counter, holding her head in her hands.

She stayed like that for a few minutes to allow herself to calm down. Syria slowly rubbed her face and went to her bedroom to get dressed. She dressed warmly, in a long coat with a thick dress underneath; she put on a matching scarf and gloves as well. Her boots were long and were tied neatly at the top. With a sigh, she grabbed Sargon, dressed him up with a scarf, and went outside.

Just as she expected, the temperature outside was dangling just above the negatives. She sat on her porch step and watched as the snow kept falling. It felt nice to be outside, just by herself. It helped her think about things clearly. The fresh air was comforting and the snow was calming. She really liked it here.

"Oh, Sargon. What am I going to do? I don't have any allies now," she said. She frowned as she spoke. "Being independent is hard." Syria pouted and sighed. She looked at Sargon. "At least I have you." She smiled a little and hugged him.

Syria couldn't help but notice the pang of depression starting to grow inside her. All she wanted was independence. She didn't want anyone to get hurt. And she didn't want to lose her best friend over it either. It seemed she bit off more than she could chew when she left France.

"It is pretty, da?" asked Russia, who was suddenly sitting right next to her. Syria jumped, being startled out of her thoughts. She blinked and looked at Russia, then sighed.

"What are you doing here?" Syria asked.

"You look lonely, so I sit with you," Russia stated. "We are friends, da?" Syria smiled a bit.

"I suppose we are," she said quietly.


	5. Author's Note

**~  
I'm sorry; I've had no motivation whatsoever to continue this story! I'm trying, but whenever I start writing I just lose interest. For those who are keeping track, please help inspire me by reviewing! If I know you guys are enjoying it, I'll want to write more. I've started on the next chapter, but it's going to be very slow if I don't get any feedback. Once again, to those that are following this story, I'm sorry.**

On another note, I just started school today. So not only will I have to manage my writer's block, I'll also have to find time to write in between my school and social life. Not to mention I'll be involved with the theater and school clubs and what-not. So, with that said, I hope you guys find the patience to deal with all the delay. I know you guys are due for another chapter, two or three at that, and I promise you I'm working on it.

Thanks for your time.  
~


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